


Life is a Cabaret

by RockyRants



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Confident!Oswald, Gotham/Cabaret Crossover, M/M, Nygmobblepot, Shy!Ed, cabaret, tags will update with story
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-12
Updated: 2017-02-07
Packaged: 2018-09-17 00:03:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9295475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RockyRants/pseuds/RockyRants
Summary: There was a cabaret. And there was a Master of Ceremonies. And there was a city called Gotham. And it was the end of the world.While on the run, Edward Nygma finds himself in the city of Gotham at a cabaret called the Iceberg Lounge. Before he knows it, he is quickly tangled up in the Emcee who runs the club.





	1. Willkommen

**Author's Note:**

> If you have not seen or heard any of the music from the musical Cabaret, I highly suggest you do it. This was inspired by the Roundabout Theater Company's production with Alan Cummings as the Emcee.

There was a cabaret. And there was a Master of Ceremonies. And there was a city called Gotham. And it was the end of the world. 

Edward nudged his way through the corridor of the train, pushing past people he would never look at, people who he didn’t want to remember. He peered in through the windows of the train compartment doors looking for any area that had a more distinct lack of people. His heart, keeping time with the rumble of the train on the tracks. Everyone was coming into Gotham today it seemed, fortunately for him. Or was it unfortunately? He couldn’t get his mind straight these days. 

 

He was near the back of the train when he finally found an empty compartment. His heart did little to still, but it was good enough. Ed stowed his suitcase above the seat and sat next to the window. The country side flew by him at top speed. 83 Miles an hour. No… 84… Maybe. Ed wasn’t really sure, he couldn’t time the clicks of the wheels just right; his mind was racing. It wasn’t like him to flee after doing something like this. He thought he could just hide the body and no one would ever suspect him. After all why would they? He was quite clever. More clever than anyone he knew. But some little rat decided to tip off the police and then disappeared. He didn’t even have a chance to find out who it was. And he certainly wasn’t about to risk his neck back there.  

Ed nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard the door to the compartment open. Doing his best to look casual he threw his feet up on the other seat, stretching out into a lounging position. Which would have looked normal if not for the fact that absolutely no part of him was relaxed.

A large man entered the compartment. His well tailored suit made him look even more intimidating than he was already.

“Is that seat taken?” he asked pointing to Ed’s feet.

  “Seat?” 

  The large man raised an eyebrow. 

  “Oh! Seat! That- Uh- No. No, its free,” Ed retracted his feet and did his best to relax more in the compartment as he looked out the window.   

The man sat down on the bench across from Edward, watching him carefully.The man’s eyes burned into the side of Ed’s head. He looked over at him nervously, staring back.   “You know, it’s not very polite to stare,” Ed said after a long pause.  

“You’re staring, too, genius.” 

  Ed studied his face, “I didn’t see you get on at the train station.”  

 

“There’s a lot of people at the train station.”  

“I would have noticed you,” he said narrowing his eyes just a little bit, “There’s a lot of people on the train today, but I assume not many take it into town on a daily basis.”  

“You’d be surprised.”

  “You’ve taken this trip before.”

  “Many, many times,” the man said with a bit of a smirk.  There were more footsteps coming down the corridor. The other man sat up a bit more just as the conductor came into the compartment.   

“Tickets.”   Ed dug around in his jacket for his ticket. While the conductor was looking over the piece of paper, Ed saw the other man slide one of his suitcases towards him. Ed shot him a look, but the man merely held a finger to his lips as if to tell him to be quiet.   The conductor punched a hole in Ed’s ticket and handed it back to him.   

“Mr. Gilzean,” the conductor said with a frown on his face. 

  “I have a ticket,” the man said, handing the piece of paper over to him. 

  “And your bag?”   

“Why do you need to check my bag?”  

“Your bag, Butch,” the conductor dropped all politeness. The man, Butch, stood and opened up his other case, Ed said nothing of the one by his leg.   

“See? Just clothes. A few trinkets. Nothing important.”   The train conductor poked around in the suitcase a bit more, turning over some of the pressed shirts and suit jackets before taking Butch’s ticket. He aggressively punched a hole in it and handed it back to Butch, slamming it against his chest.  

“As always, Mr. Gilzean.” 

“Good to see you, too,” he said with a smirk, sitting down. Ed kept his mouth shut until the conductor was out of the compartment, but Butch was the first one to break the silence, “So are you a tourist or something?”  

“Oh, no. Well, not exactly. I don’t know how long I’ll be in Gotham. I’m going to look for a job I guess.”  

“Running from something?”  

“So what’s in this one?” Ed asked quickly, changing the subject. He slid the suitcase back over to Butch with his foot, consciously deciding he didn’t want to get his prints on anything illegal. Butch picked up the case and set it next to him.   

 

“Why does it matter?”   

 

“When you don’t have me, you want me. But when you have me you want to share me, what am I?”

  Butch blinked at him, “Are you asking me a riddle?”  

“A secret.” Ed said with a smile, “And secrets aren’t very fun when you keep them to yourself.”  

Butch settled back in his seat, “Baubles, gifts for friends… a bit more than is permitted. You understand.”  Ed paled and nodded. He had heard that Gotham was dangerous, thought it might be a good place to hide or at least find some help. But he didn’t expect to be in the same train car with someone like Butch on his first day in the city.   

“I mean, well I suppose people who come to Gotham come here for a reason,” he pushed his glasses up further on his nose.  

“See? You do understand.” Butch scooted forward on the seat, “We haven’t been properly introduced,” He extended a hand forward, “Butch Gilzean.” 

Ed cautiously shook it, “Edward Na-… Nygma,” He said, thinking fast. He offered Butch a smile as the train began to slow. 

  “Well, Mr. Nygma. Anyone running into Gotham without a plan could use a drink. Come with me to the club I work at. I’m sure we could help you make some connections in the city.”

  “That’s suspiciously hospitable of you.” Ed said dryly. 

“It’s not such a great idea to try and face Gotham alone, Mr. Nygma. Trust me on that one.” he train slowed to a stop. Butch reached into his coat and pulled out a business card. It had an umbrella on it and a phone number on the back, nothing else “Come by for a drink if you’d like. I do have to get these uh… gifts to my employer though,” he picked up both of his suitcases with a grunt. 

Ed stood as well and pulled his suitcase off of the shelf above the seat and followed Butch out of the train.   “Does this place not have a name?” he asked as they disembarked, still staring at the card. 

  “People just usually call it the Iceberg Lounge,” Butch clarified, “Just give the card to the cab driver when you’re ready to stop by,” He hailed a cab outside of the train station, pausing as he put his suitcases in, “Welcome to Gotham, Mr. Nygma,” He gave Ed a nod before the cab sped off.   

Ed stood on the corner of this new city looking around like some sort of lost puppy. The sounds of the city were more overwhelming that he could have thought. Screams and horns honking, the smell of gasoline and general street garbage. It was perfect.  

That night, Ed stood outside of the Iceberg Lounge. The purple neon lights in the club window were really the only indication that there was a club there at all. Suitcase still in hand, Ed made his way down the alley to the door. He knocked. A little window in the door opened.  

“Who the hell are you?” a surprisingly high voice came from behind the door while a pair of menacing eyes stared back out.

“I-” Ed set down his case and pulled out the business card. “Butch, Butch Gilzean gave me this on the train. He told me I should stop by,” he held up the card to the window, “Is this the right place?” the window shut quickly, leaving Ed to stand there blinking. He picked up his suitcase with every intention of leaving before the door opened revealing a shorter, but still gruff looking man.

The club was doused in purple light and packed to the gills. Ed had never seen this many people packed into a night club like this. Tables dressed in silk with small lamps on each lined the floor and a few cocktail waitresses paraded in around in skimpy outfits. Ed found himself fixing his gaze on the floor instead.

“See you found your way to us after all,” Butch greeted from behind Ed, slapping a large hand on the tall man’s shoulder. Ed couldn’t help but jump. 

“Mr. Gilzean.” Ed smiled, holding out his hand again.

“You can call me Butch. Let’s get you set up at a table.” He gave a flick of his hand towards a waitress. She scuttled over to them quickly, “Get this man a table and a drink before the show starts, will ya?” 

“Show? Oh I don’t have to stay for a show. Just a drink.” Ed followed the waitress and sat down at the private table she showed him. It had a lovely view of the stage without being too close.  

“What’ll you have?” The waitress asked..

“I- Really I don’t have to stay for the show.”

“Trust me, kid. You’re gonna want to to stay for the show.” Butch said, patting Ed’s back forcing him to sit down in the chair.  

“What will you have?” The waitress said again, impatiently. 

Ed swallowed.  “I’ll- I’ll take a gin and tonic I guess.” The waitress nodded and took his coat. Ed observed his surroundings and pointed to a telephone on the table, “What’s the telephone for?”

  Butch shrugged and sat down, “It was the Boss’s idea. We have a lot of people coming in here for business. Its easier to not draw attention to yourself when other people can’t be sure who you’re talking to on the other end.” 

“Business.”   

“Exactly. Business.” Butch said with a nod as he stood again. 

  “You won’t join me?” 

  “I’ve got some things upstairs I have to take care of. Enjoy your show, Mr. Nygma.” He said with a nod. The waitress came back over with Ed’s drink, vacating the area as the band began warming up even more, when all else faded to nothing but a drum roll. 

A spotlight zeroed in on the curtains as they rose.   A hand reached out into the light beckoning the audience forward as the light grew and grew to reveal their master of ceremonies. Ed’s mouth went completely dry.   

A man stood in the middle of the stage dressed in a dark leather trench coat. His hair falling onto his face and bright eyes flicking around the audience. A smile slowly crept onto his face as he opened his mouth to welcome the audience to the cabaret.  

“Meine Damen und Herren, Mes dames et Messieurs, Ladies…” He drifted off, glancing at a couple of well dressed men at a nearby table, “and Gentlemen, Guten Abend Bon Soir! Good Evening! Wie geht's? Comment sa va? Do you feel good?” He made eye contact with a woman in the audience and smiled, pointing to her. “I bet you do. Ich bin eur confrencier! Je suis votre compère, I am your host!” The man said with a devious looking grin and a bow. 

His head snapped up, “Leave your troubles outside. So, life is disappointing? Hmm? Forget it. We have no troubles here. In here life is beautiful.The girls are beautiful. Even the orchestra is beautiful.” He turned and motioned to the orchestra which was sitting up on a platform above the stage, framed by light bulbs. The music rose into a vamp as they showed off their talent.

 Everyone’s eyes followed the Emcee’s hand up to the orchestra, but Ed couldn’t take his eyes off the man in the black coat. He stared even more as the emcee began to unbutton it and tossed it off stage, leaving him in nothing but a pair of well fitting trousers and a few complicated looking suspender straps. Ed could automatically feel his face getting hot.

“You see?” The Emcee beamed, “I told you the orchestra was beautiful. And now presenting our Iceberg Lounge Girls.” Ed began tuning out what the man was saying, merely watching him walk around the stage, presenting each and every girl. 

They were pretty enough, in Ed’s opinion, but the Emcee was downright fascinating. The way he moved and danced around the stage teasingly. Ed had never seen anyone like him. As the song concluded members of the chorus hoisted the Emcee onto their shoulders for one final flourish. Ed found himself leaping to his feet to applaud, catching the eye of the Master of Ceremonies. Ed soon realized that he was the only one standing. 

The Emcee bowed, “Meine Damen und Herren, Mes dames et Messieurs, Ladies and Gentlemen, the Iceberg Lounge is happy to present to you a most talented young woman from right here in the heart of Gotham,” he clapped his hands together, “I give you, and don’t forget to bring her back when you’re finished with her, the toast of Gotham, Miss Barbara Keane!” The Emcee gestured off the stage to a woman who flounced on with an asymmetrical bob and bright smile.

Embarrassed, Ed quickly downed his drink before ordering another one. He hadn’t planned on staying for more than the first song. But now he supposed he was hooked.  

Backstage, Oswald leaned against one of the brick walls, catching his breath. He rolled his leg a bit, doing his best to stretch out any of the pain that was aching through it. Barb had warned him about getting back up and onto his feet too quickly. He didn’t listen to her. Why should he? She worked for him. Not the other way around.

“Butch!” he barked out, looking around for the man. Butch came down the stairs that led to the upstairs offices. He leaned on the railing.   

“Yes, boss?”   

“Is my table free?”   

“Always, Boss.”

  “Who is the man at table three?” He asked, sitting down on the floor to stretch a bit better, “He was not on the guest list for tonight.”  

“I met him on the train. He got some of the goods passed security for me. Thought I’d give him a drink.”

  Oswald turned his head to give Butch a dark look, “And you didn’t think to check him first?”

  “He’s on the run from something, Mr. Penguin. There’s no way I’d let him into the club if he wasn’t on the run.”  

Oswald considered this for a moment before holding his hand up and out. Butch helped him to his feet only for Penguin to brush him aside, “Send a bottle of Champagne to my table. Now.” 

Oswald walked quietly to his table on the other side of the club. He sat down in the plush chair, taking a glass of champagne from the waiter and picked up his phone.   

The telephone on Ed’s table rang, startling him a bit. Ed looked around the club confused. Who could possibly be calling him? He reached over and picked up the receiver. 

  “Hello?” he asked cautiously. 

  “Butch tells me you’re on the run from something,” the emcee’s voice echoed into the ear piece. Ed looked around, “I’m at table six, in the corner,” Oswald waved to the man, “No need to come over here. Are you enjoying your evening?”  

“I- Uh- Yes. Yes. I am.”   

“What’s your name?”  

“Edward. Nygma,” he cleared his throat, “Why is a piano so hard to open?”  

Oswald tilted his head, “I’m not sure.”  

“Because the keys are on the inside.” Ed let out a nervous laugh. 

Oswald couldn’t help but smile against the phone.  “Is this always how you start a conversation?”  

“When I’m nervous, yes.” Ed admitted, “Does it show?”

  “Only a little. I have never received a standing ovation before tonight. I should start making it mandatory. You’re very polite.”  

“I try to be. Mr… Uh… Forgive me I don’t think I ever asked your name.”  

“Oswald. Cobblepot. People around here call me Penguin.”  “

Why do they call you that?”   

“Does it matter?”  

“No,Oswald. Mr. Cobblepot. Mr. Penguin.” Ed put his head in his hand, making Oswald chuckle from across the room.   

“You know just because we’re on the phone doesn’t mean I can’t see you,” he took a sip of his champagne, looking over to the stage where Barb was wrapping up her song, “Butch said you needed some help in Gotham. Come meet me after the show. I’ll see how I can help you.” There was a click of the phone as Oswald hung up.


	2. So What?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edward finds accommodations in Gotham, but they're certainly not what he expected. At least the landlady is nice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much of this chapter is inspired by the second song in Cabaret called, "So What?" I recommend listening before reading this chapter.

Ed didn’t expect the show to last so long. Between drinks and milling around, people dancing the night away sprinkled with different acts, he was not expecting to spend so much time alone in the club. It was fascinating though. Ed couldn’t tear his eyes from the people around them, how they could be so carefree in this little bubble Oswald had created. It was as if the outside world didn’t exist at all. 

Butch came out from a curtain that clearly led backstage and walked over to Ed, catching him mid yawn, “Don’t tell me you’re already tired.”  

“I’m not,” Ed said firmly, “I just usually don’t stay up this late. That’s all.”

“Sure.” Butch motioned for him to follow, “The boss will see you now.” Ed clumsily gathered his suitcase and followed Butch back behind the stage.   

The world that Oswald had created was certainly something to behold from the audience. But backstage was another matter entirely. People were shuffling around, tying down ropes, rushing costumes back and forth behind the backdrop. 

  “Out of the way.” A gruff looking man barked out, shoving Ed out of the way as he was carrying a large box. Ed caught the word on the side: explosives. He stared, jaw dropped a little before Butch’s guiding hand turned him toward a staircase.   The second floor of the cabaret was much like the first, instead of stage hands fumbling about there were musicians packing up their instruments for the end of the night.   

“Do shows always go this late?” Ed asked, looking at his watch. He followed Butch down a small hallway to a door. It was only one in the morning.   

“Late?” Butch looked at his own watch, “Kid this is early for the times we usually run. With New Year’s in a couple days you’ll see what I mean.” He knocked twice on the door, there was no answer. Butch sighed and knocked again.   But it wasn’t Oswald who came to the door. Instead a bald, frightening looking man with a demented sort of smile answered the door. He kept it mostly closed, only his face peering out. 

  “I’m sorry can we help you?”

  “Boss told me to bring this one up, Zsasz.” Butch jerked a thumb over his shoulder at Ed. Zsasz looked him over. 

  “You’re new…” Zsasz grinned. Ed immediately wanted to run for some reason.   

“If he’s busy it’s fine, really.” Ed said waving his head, voice tight and a little frightened.  

“Is that Nygma?” Oswald’s voice called from inside the office, “Let him in Victor.”

Victor opened the door all the way and stepped to the side, letting Ed and Butch into the room. The office was just as well decorated as the club. Dark woods that all matched and a large window that looked onto the floor of the club. Oswald sat behind the desk, makeup still on as he scribbled something down on paper. He’d thrown some ridiculously fluffy jacket on to keep himself warm in the drafty room.   He handed the paper to Victor, “Just take care of it, Victor.” He muttered. Zsasz walked over and took the paper from Oswald, reading it over. 

  “I don’t see why I can’t just put a bullet in his head and be done with it.”  

“I didn’t ask you to put a bullet in his head. I asked you, very simply, to deliver a message. If you meet any resistance when it comes to getting in contact, then you can do it your way.”   

Victor tucked the piece of paper away, “Fine.” He grumbled as he walked out of the office, shutting the door behind him.   

Oswald turned his attention to Ed, “Sit.” He gestured to the chair in front of his desk, turning around to file something away. Ed noticed the odd way in which he stood up, but said nothing as he took his seat, “Butch go and clear out the club. Would you?”  Butch gave a mere nod and left the two of them alone. Ed felt the heavy silence fall over the room as Butch’s footsteps echoed away from the door, “You don’t have to look so frightened of being in a room alone with me.” Oswald said, sitting back down at the desk, “Butch said you didn’t particularly mention what you were running from, Edward.”

  Ed felt a chill run up his spine when Oswald said his name.   “No, I didn’t. He could just sort of tell. I don't know how but-”   

“So what are you running from?” Ed remained silent as Oswald looked him over, “You can say it out loud. If you’ve done what I think you have I can assure you that I will not be turning you in. This is Gotham, after all, people have done far worse here.” 

  Ed took a deep breath, “I… I’ve started killing people.” Ed felt a rush of relief wash over him. He could breathe for the first time in days. He looked back up at Oswald and started giggling, “It feels so good to say that.”   

Oswald nodded, “How many?”

  “Pardon?”

  “How many people have you killed?”  

“Three.” Oswald couldn’t help but scoff a little. An amateur. Ed tilted his head, “Why am I telling you all of this…” He muttered, half to himself.   

Oswald shrugged, “Usually it takes a little bit of… persuasion to get people to talk to me.” He smirked, settling back in his seat, “So what exactly do you need from us?”  

“You’re willing to help me just like that?”  

Oswald laughed, “Oh god, of course not.” He looked Edward over, “What do you have to offer?”

  “Me? I…” He swallowed, “I mean I have.. I have some medical knowledge. I was in forensics for a little while.” He gestured to Oswald’s leg, “For example I know you could probably use a better brace on your knee than whatever sort of bandage you’re using now. It doesn’t show when you dance, but I can see you’re in pain.”    
Oswald blinked at him and began walking around the table. He let his limp show in full, as it seemed Ed already knew about it. It had been slowly getting worse the more and more he performed, but he never mentioned it. And lord knows that absolutely no one in the show would ever dare to mention it to him.   

“Clever.” He sat on the desk right in front of Ed, "Not sure we really need a medic…” He said slowly, still mulling over the idea. 

  “I’m also very good at strategy. Planning. If… If you don’t have a need for me in the club maybe I could be useful with other things. Your side work perhaps?”   

“Edward I don’t think-”

“Like dealing with the person who wants to buy your club for instance.”   Oswald barely had to think about it. He lunged at Ed, a knife pressed against his throat. Edward paled.

  “What could you possibly know about that?! Did he send you? He did, didn’t he?” Oswald asked, with a laugh, “Let me make something very clear, I’m not a man who likes to be trifled with, Mr. Nygma.”

  Ed gulped, doing his best not to move his head, “What? No! No! I just- you were writing very angrily when I-I came in. I n-noticed you talking to some wealthy looking people on the floor tonight. And you sent one of your more intimidating looking men, assassins, i don’t know what they are honestly, to go talk to this guy. That’s all!” His voice squeaked at the end as a bit of sweat began to bead at the back of his neck.   Oswald tilted his head again carefully pulling the knife away. Ed let out another breath and waited for an answer. Oswald clicked the knife shut.   

“You’re more clever than I thought.” Oswald’s face broke into a smile as he walked back around to the other side of the desk. He grabbed a piece of paper, “You’ll need a place to stay I assume.”  

“I don’t want to impose-” 

“You’re not.” Oswald handed over a small slip of paper, “They should be able to give you accommodations there.” He said, gesturing to the address on the slip, “You just tell them that the owner of the Iceberg Lounge sent you and they’ll be more than happy to help.” Oswald settled back in his chair, “Then you can come by tomorrow and we’ll see what you can make of this work. Who knows, I may even through you onto the floor and see how you do with our customers. I can always use an extra set of eyes.”

  Ed looked at the paper, “Will they be there this late?”

  “I wouldn’t send you there if I didn’t think they would. if you prove useful to me I’ll move you to more comfortable accommodations but, well, you can understand why I don’t trust you as of right now.” Oswald locked eyes with Edward. The taller man found himself just staring back. Oswald raised an eyebrow, “You can go now.” He said with a small nod.  

Ed shook himself out of his trance and nodded, “Right. Thank you, Mr.Penguin.” He said with a smile as he looked at the paper.    

 

The accommodations were small, a bit drafty. It was close enough to the club, but Ed could tell that it wasn’t exactly the best area of town. But it was a mattress beneath him and a roof over his head. A small fridge sat in the corner next to a stove with a burner that didn’t work. Ed’s stomach growled at the lack of food. He knew he should have had something to eat instead of just pounding back drinks. But that was another worry for the next day.   It was also nice to know that he could just rest that evening without someone coming after him or knowing where he was. He could be safe there. He couldn’t help but laugh to himself. It was the first time in weeks that he hadn’t worried about someone following him. The first time that he hadn’t been constantly looking over his shoulder. 

  Ed rolled onto his back and looked up at the ceiling. The world outside of the club seemed so different than the oasis that Oswald had created. He had been right when he took the stage at the beginning of the night. In the club everything was beautiful. 

 

The next morning Ed found himself walking down the street towards the grocery store. It was a bit of a trudge and soon he found himself in a neighborhood where he couldn’t read some of the signs. It was a latin alphabet, sure, but not in any language that Ed knew how to speak. He was looking over a pineapple when the sound of a bag tearing caught his attention.   An older woman with curly blonde hair, hands full of grocery bags, was stooping down to gather up a bunch of groceries that had fallen.   

“Oh my goodness, no, no no…” She muttered quietly to herself. Her accent was thick. Ed rushed to her side and started to help pick up the groceries. 

  “Here let me.” He said with a smile. The woman lifted her head and gave Edward a tight smile. 

  “Oh my, such a nice boy.” She said, “I thank you, very, very much. It is these bags. They are not so good any more.”   

“Looks like it.” Ed chuckled.   

“I am so sorry to ask, but would you mind helping me to carry these back? I only live a block or so away.” She asked. Her smile was so wide and welcoming that Ed, despite his best judgement to keep his head low in this town, found himself nodding.

“Sure.”   

“Oh! How wonderful!” She clapped her hands together and regathered her bags, leaving Edward to grab a fresh bag from a nearby vendor and fill it back up. The woman held out her hand, “I am Gertrude.”  

“Ed.” Edward shook her hand, “Nygma.”  

“Mister Nygma, you are such the gentleman.” she giggled. Ed found himself smiling as he walked with her.   The apartment building that Gertrude led him to was a small one. Ed figured it didn’t have more than seven or so rooms. He helped Gertrude carry the groceries all the way to her small apartment up on the second floor.   “Here we are!” Gertrude opened the door to the apartment, letting Ed in first, “Thank you so much. It is hard on my arms to carry so many groceries from the shop.” She said, “But I’m sure not for a strong boy like you.”

Ed took a moment to take in the apartment. There was lace on every table, curtains hanging in almost every doorway. There were water stains on the ceiling, but it was clear that Gertrude had done her best with what she had. 

  “I wouldn’t know, I haven’t lived around here very long.” He put the groceries down on the table. 

  “You live around here!” Gertrude said happily, “Where do you live then?”   Ed found her positivity and openness slightly off-putting. 

“Uh.. about two miles south of here. For now. I just moved here. Hopefully I’ll find something else soon.”   

Gertrude turned around, clapping her hands together, “You have no room? But this is no problem!”   
  “You-“

  “I am the land lady here. The finest residence in all of Gotham. We just had an opening on the third floor. One bedroom.” 

  Ed found himself speechless, “I can’t afford the finest residence in all of Gotham. I need something… inexpensive. I don’t really have a steady job right now.” 

  “Oh but this is inexpensive. Very inexpensive” Gertrude said going to a wall in the back of the apartment where a pegboard had keys. She grabbed a set.   

“Well I mean… I don’t- I don’t care if it’s awful as long as it’s cheap.”  

“Oh but this is awful.” Gertrude said teasingly, “I am joking. No, no, you will love it, I promise you.” She took Ed by the arm and led him up the stairs. 

Each stair creaked under their feet. Gertrude fumbled with the key for a moment before opening the door.   The room was small, but a bed was already there. It was certainly already warmer than the place that Oswald had put him up in. There was even a dresser and a writing desk, should he need one.   “You see, Mister Nygma.” Gertrude said with a hand flourish, “All comforts, and I even cook breakfast for our building, only one hundred dollars!”  

Ed winced a little bit, “It’s very nice, Miss uh…”  

“Miss Kapelput.” Gertrude said with a smile and a small curtsy.   

“Kapelput.” Ed said slowly, sounded an awful lot like Cobblepot, but surely Oswald lived somewhere more grand. Ed shook the thought from his mind, “But you don’t perchance have something cheaper? I can honestly only afford fifty.”  

“But for a strong boy like you, smart boy like you. You will find a job and then they will pay you and you will pay me-”

“That’s very kind of you, but if I were to live here I could honestly only afford 50.”

 

 Gertrude frowned just a bit, “This room is worth 100, more than 100.”  

“50 is my limit.” Ed said remorsefully, “It’s alright, honestly. You’ve been more than hospitable while I’ve been here I-“  

“Fifty?” Gertrude asked. Ed nodded, “Sit.” Gertrude said gesturing towards the desk, “You say 50, I say 100, a difference of 50,” She shrugged, “Why should we let that stand in our way? As long as the room’s to let, the 50 that I will get, is 50 more than I had yesterday, yes?  “When you’re as old as I, as anyone as old as I, what difference does it make? An offer comes, you take!” She shook Edward’s hand, “You know, if I like that you’re here, and I like that you’re here, Happy new year my dear!” She kissed his cheek, “The sun will rise and the moon will set, and we learn how to settle for what we get. It will all go on whether we’re here or not, so who cares?”   Ed couldn’t help but smile, “Are you sure that fifty will be alright?” He asked. 

She waved a hand, “I tell you what we shall do, you come and you help me make lunch, and I will be happy to accept fifty.” She patted his shoulder and handed him the key, “And when you get a job, perhaps you will be able to afford 100, yes?” She laughed.   

Gertrude was humming to herself as she began chopping vegetables for lunch. Ed took his time glancing around the apartment a little bit more. 

He noticed a standup piano in one corner, “Do you play?” He asked, gesturing to the piano. 

Gertrude tossed her head back with a laugh.   “Oh no. My little boy plays. So elegant he is. And so talented.” 

  Ed paused and looked back to Gertrude, “Your son?”

  Gertrude grinned, and walked over to a table next to the couch, picking up a photograph. “He is a good boy. Never in my life has he been away for too long. Comes home late, he does. Such a good boy, but he did not come home last night! Off wandering around with some painted slut no doubt!” She huffed. She handed the photograph over to Edward, “You see? So handsome, my son is.”   

“Mother!” Someone called from the front room. Ed’s ears perked up, he knew that voice. Ed looked down at the photo finally seeing a very familiar face, granted he was probably a teenager in the photo. Gertrude broke into a bright smile and wandered into the other room.   

“Oh! My little Cobblepot.” She pinched Oswald’s cheek, “So tired you look. You don’t come home last night! Why you don’t call your mother? I tell you why, you got tangled up in some hussy’s demon purse.”  

Oswald waved her hand away, “Mother there was no hussy. Just business. A lot of files to take care of last night and-” Oswald stopped dead in his tracks when he saw Edward Nygma standing in his kitchen.   Ed took in Oswald as well. The man looked different outside of the club, outside of the illusion. He looked tired, as his mother said, his limp was worse, and his face was clean of the makeup he had worn the night before. 

  “Mr. Peng-“ He stopped himself when Oswald gave him a death stare, “Oswald. It’s good to see you.”  

“You know my Oswald! You two are friends.” Gertrude said with a smile, “Why you don’t bring friends around? This man has no where to go. Sleeping in some drafty house downtown.” She batted Oswald on the arm. He recoiled just a bit, “But not anymore. He will take the room upstairs.”

  “What?” Oswald said with a slight tang of venom.

  “I don’t have to.” Ed recovered quickly, “Really, Miss Kapelput. You said the room was worth 100 anyway, and I can’t afford that so-” He said, holding his hands up. Gertrude waved her hand.

 “Nonsense. Any boy who helps me and is a friend of my Oswald is welcome in this building. How did you two meet?”  Oswald was standing remarkably still, staring Edward down. Ed looked between the two of them.   

“I met him at the Ic-”

  Oswald turned to his mother quickly, “Mother, I need to have a word in private with Edward, thank you.” He said, quickly grabbing Ed’s arm and dragging him into the hallway. 

  Gertrude stood alone in the kitchen, “We are eating soon!” She called out as the door slammed behind Oswald, “Such a nice boy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All comments are really appreciated!!

**Author's Note:**

> I blame Robin Lord Taylor's little tour of the Gotham Set circa season 1 where he mentioned he wanted to do the Emcee role in Cabaret. And then I couldn't get it out of my head. And here we are. I would like to thank my beta readers on tumblr r0rschach and tiger-by-the-tail.
> 
> I cannot promise regular updates for this. But all feedback is greatly appreciated.


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